


The Surprise of Being Loved

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4996279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU starting late in 1928 (season 1); Dr MacMillan meets the new librarian at the college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved.” ~Charles Langbridge Morgan (1894–1958)
> 
> Many of us agree that Dr Mac needs a romance, preferably with someone who doesn't die. I hope you like the woman I found for her!  
> Thank you extra super lots to gaslightgallows (hearts_blood) for the preread and the encouragement!

Mac strode purposefully toward the conference room at the college. She had exactly one hour before she was supposed to meet some of the senior students for a revision lab before their exams, and Professor Bradbury had requested her presence at an interview for the new school librarian position. _Probably because he wants a woman’s perspective_ , she thought sardonically. _Chances are, the candidate is female, and he isn’t sure what questions to ask someone of such limited intelligence._ She snorted lightly. Bradbury’s standards when it came to women were clear. He preferred them to be attractive and submissive; he only put up with Mac because she was backed by the hospital board.

Keeping her face impassive, Mac paused before the door to the conference room. She straightened her waistcoat and jacket, then calmly pushed the door open. She’d been correct. The candidate was female, and she currently sat on one side of the long table facing the college board members. As Mac moved toward an empty seat at the far end of the line of her male colleagues, she was aware of the way all heads in the room turned to watch her enter.

“Gentlemen,” she said, nodding at her colleagues. “I apologize for my tardiness. I got caught up at the hospital.” She came up beside the candidate on her way to her seat, and paused. “Hello, I’m Doctor Elizabeth MacMillan.” She held out her hand to the woman, who looked remarkably composed and calm in the face of all the testosterone being flung at her from across the table.

“Miss Leigh Danvers,” the woman said, reaching out to shake Mac’s hand. She had golden-blonde hair that was caught up in a large bun at the back of her neck rather than tucked under to form a faux bob as so many women did. Her eyes were deeply green, and her complexion was clear; her unpainted mouth was finely shaped, with a full lower lip, marked cupid’s bow, and corners that turned up slightly, as if she could see plenty to laugh about. Her clothes were tidy, if slightly out of fashion, though the color of her blouse echoed that of her eyes. Her posture was perfect—spine straight and legs crossed neatly at the ankles. She was perhaps in her mid-thirties, and she obviously knew how to handle herself in a room like this one. Mac smiled slightly. If it weren’t for Daisy, this woman could turn her head.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mac returned, shaking her hand briskly. Miss Danvers nodded her head in agreement. Letting go of her hand, Mac moved around the end of the table to her seat. “So where are we?” Mac said, folding her hands in front of her on the table.

*******

Leigh hadn’t been nervous until the woman came in. The woman _doctor_. Imagine that. Leigh had always loved the idea that women could be doctors (and lawyers, and police constables, and so many other things, really). She’d met many women with doctorate degrees during her time as a university library, but never a female medical doctor. Fascinating. Doctor MacMillan’s pale blue eyes were piercing, giving Leigh the impression that she could see right down to Leigh’s soul. She must have cultivated that look, she employed it so well.

Leigh was intrigued by Dr MacMillan’s sartorial style. It was a rare woman who would succeed in a man’s profession like medicine when she dressed in today’s women’s style; that this woman dressed in masculine clothing meant that she had to have been doubly determined to excel. It wasn’t as if the difference in her garb hid the fact that she was a woman. Quite the contrary. It seemed to draw attention to her sex instead.

“Professor Bradbury had just asked me about my library experience,” Leigh said, responding to Mac’s question, her voice calm and cool. “I’ve spent the past twelve years in the Washington, DC, area of the United States. I started at a public library in Fredricksburg, Virginia, in 1916, and moved in 1920 to one of the student libraries affiliated with George Washington University.”

“Ah, thank you, Miss Danvers,” Bradbury said. “It sounds as if you’ve been successful in America. Why did you come back to Melbourne? For a beau?”

“No beau,” Leigh said, composed. “My parents are here, and they’re getting older. I wanted to be closer to them. So when my job at the university ended, I took the opportunity to return to Australia.”

“So you’ve no plans to marry soon?” Bradbury’s line of questioning became clear to Leigh now. He wanted to know if she’d have a reason to leave an employment situation to become a housewife and mother. Ha! If he only knew.

“No plans of that nature at all, Professor,” she replied with a slight smile. “I highly doubt that I will ever marry. I truly enjoy my books too much.”

“Well, you’re an attractive woman, Miss Danvers,” the professor said condescendingly. “I’m certain you can find yourself a good man easily enough.”

“Strangely enough, marriage and motherhood isn’t every woman’s dream, professor,” Mac’s dry voice was clear, and her accompanying smile was only a small curling of the lips. “Do you have experience with researchers, Miss Danvers?”

“I do, doctor,” Leigh said, looking at the doctor. _Goodness, those eyes!_ She blinked to clear her head. “Part of my job at the university was to assist the students in finding the resources they needed. We also had an extensive rare-book section, and I was instrumental in documenting it.”

“Were these medical texts, Miss Danvers?” Mr Spall, his face screwed up into its habitual sour look, sounded as if he thought he’d caught her in a lie. Also a habit of his.

“Some were, Mr Spall,” she said calmly. “Others were personal papers—diaries, letters, household account books, that kind of thing. The university has a collection of papers from the country’s founding fathers, including such scientists as Benjamin Franklin. So the cataloguing of those resources covered a wide range of topics, from agriculture and husbandry to electrification and astronomy. I do not, of course, consider myself an expert in those subjects,” she smiled mildly, “only in the care and keeping of the books that contain them.”

“And when it comes to the care and keeping of books,” Professor Katz spoke up for the first time, “how would you suggest one handle them? And how would you prefer they be kept?”

“Well, it’s best to wear gloves when handling old books, to keep the oils from our fingers from degrading the paper and ink.” Leigh tilted her head as she spoke, matter-of-fact. “And as for keeping them, it’s ideal to work with them away from direct sunlight, and to keep them in a darkened, dry room when not working with them. Some old books can be very fragile, and the moisture in the air is enough to induce mold, so wrapping them in a cloth cover, preferably cotton, can also be beneficial. Does the college have a rare books room, Professor Katz? I thought it was a medical library?”

“It is, it is,” Bradbury said dismissively, before Katz could answer, “but we do have a few rare volumes that will need care. Well, I think that unless anyone else has questions, we can let you go. We’ve taken up enough of your valuable time.”

“Of course,” Leigh said, after a glance around showed no other questions were forthcoming. She stood, holding out a hand across the table to each of the interviewers. “Thank you for your time.”

Spall and Katz nodded to her as they shook her hand, as did Bradbury. Each man’s expression was slightly different—Spall still looked like he’d been sucking on lemons ( _he doesn’t like me much, I suppose_ ); Katz’s small smile was cordial ( _he might be a vote in my favor_ ); and Bradbury’s broad smile, showing his teeth, was still rather condescending, as if he found it funny that she wanted to shake hands with him ( _this one doesn’t like women, but he isn’t opposed to me otherwise_ ). When she came to shake Mac’s hand, the other woman’s smile was warm, and her handshake was firm.

“I hope we’ll see you again soon, Miss Danvers,” Mac said, “your qualifications are excellent.”

“I hope so too, Dr MacMillan,” Leigh smiled back at her, noting the tiny laugh lines around the doctor’s eyes and the curling waves of her fiery red hair. “I would be very pleased to become a part of the staff here.”

Releasing Mac’s hand, Leigh turned and made her way out of the room. Mac found herself watching Leigh’s retreating figure for a moment. She was taller than Mac had expected, and she had an hourglass figure; her long-sleeved blouse was demure, as was her calf-length skirt, but the blouse was tailored enough that it did not hide her curves, and the skirt nipped in at the waist, followed the lines of her hips faithfully and flared around her knees. Her stockings were plain, and she wore sensible, lace-up oxford shoes with a small heel. She looked, thought Mac, like a librarian, but with a twist of sex appeal.

Turning to her colleagues, Mac put her hands in her pockets. “So, when can she start?”


	2. Chapter 2

Leigh arrived for her first day of work early. She was excited to get started. It had been a long time since she’d had a new project, and she looked forward to getting this collection ordered to her satisfaction. She carried a small box of personal items and a briefcase as she climbed the stairs to the first floor. Unlocking the door to the library with the hand that held her briefcase, she pushed the door open, taking a deep, proprietary breath of the air; how she loved the smell of old books!

Her strides were purposeful as she made her way to her office, which was tucked away in a back corner. The wooden counter of the reference desk was dull, she noted. She’d need to polish that straight away. She wondered whether there were any students who volunteered in the library. She could use the help with any manual labor, and it would be nice to have an assistant to work the desk for her on occasion.

In the office, she unpacked her few personal belongings—a paperweight her niece had made in school that had traveled all the way to America and back again; a framed photo of her family, her parents seated in front of her brothers and their wives and children, and herself tucked to one side; and a lovely glass bowl that she bought on a weekend trip to Virginia Beach, then a half-dozen apples and oranges to pile up in it. A tin pail with her lunch went into the bottom drawer of the desk along with her handbag containing her current book.

Leigh made a point to never go anywhere without a book; all of her handbags were large enough to fit one inside. There are so many moments when one wants a book, and although there had been times when she didn’t open the book she carried, she always regretted it when she didn’t have one. The title tucked into her handbag on this morning was Virginia Woolf’s _To the Lighthouse_. She generally preferred to read memoirs and autobiographies—the way that people move through history had always fascinated her—but she enjoyed fiction as well, and this book was newly published in the States. She was on her second read of it now (she’d read it on the boat on the way to Melbourne), and she was enjoying it just as much the second time through.

Her things sorted, Leigh headed back out to the main room of the library. The shelves were rather high—probably nine feet, most of them—but the ceiling was even higher, so the room itself felt airy. She began to walk through, jotting notes on a pad she’d brought with her about the location of various subjects and authors. She was so absorbed in the work, she didn’t hear the library door open behind her.

“Are you the new librarian?” came a voice behind her. Startled, Leigh whirled, hand to her heart.

“Oh! I _am_ sorry! I didn’t hear you come in,” she smiled, and moving toward the young woman, who’d stopped near the reference desk, she held out her hand. “I am Miss Danvers, and yes, I am the new librarian.”

The young woman looked at Leigh’s outstretched hand but kept her hands in her pockets. Her hair and eyes were the same dark brown, and her skin had an olive cast to it. Her medical coat was brilliantly white, and buttoned all the way up her body so that only a couple of inches of her dull brown skirt showed beneath its hem.

“I am Beatrice Mason,” she said, her tone abrupt. “I’m Doctor Katz’s student assistant. I am working on his book with him.”

Leigh, slightly puzzled, lowered her hand back to her side. “Are you? Which book is that?”

“The Book of Hours, of course,” Miss Mason said, the capital letters ringing clearly in her speech. “He trusts me to be careful with it, you see.”

“Well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Mason.” Leigh said. “I hope that you will come and work in the library when you need to. Anyone who enjoys books is welcome here.” She smiled again.

“That is not relevant, Miss Danvers,” Miss Mason said, straight-faced. “I’m certain that all students are welcome in the library, regardless of their appreciation of books.”

“You are correct in that, Miss Mason.” Leigh nodded, suppressing her own smile.

Miss Mason gave a sharp nod and left without another word. Eyebrows rising, Leigh loosed her smile and went back to her examination of the library.

*******

On Leigh’s second day at work, a Tuesday, she was pleasantly surprised when Doctor MacMillan swept into the library just before lunchtime.

Smiling, Leigh greeted her warmly. “It’s lovely to see you, Doctor MacMillan. Is there something I can help you with today?”

“Actually, I just came by to see how you were settling in,” Mac said with a smile. “Have you found everything you need?”

“I have, yes,” Leigh said. “Would you like a cup of tea? I was just going to make some to have with my sandwich.”

“I would,” Mac said.

Leigh led the way to her office, where she had indeed just plugged in her electric kettle.

“That’s fancy,” remarked Mac, eyeing the kettle.

“I know, it’s an indulgence,” Leigh said, smiling, “I was so pleased to find that my office is electrified! I’m afraid I’m a bit of an addict when it comes to tea. It’s one of the things I missed about Australia while I was overseas. Americans have no idea how to brew tea correctly.” She sat down behind her desk, waving Mac to her visitor’s chair, and pulled open the drawer at the bottom. “I even have some biscuits here, if you’d like one.” She set a metal tin on top of the desk. “My sister-in-law makes them, and they’re divine. I’m only sharing because you’re being so friendly.” She grinned.

Mac grinned back. “Well, if I’d known you had divine biscuits on offer, I’d’ve been here yesterday.” She reached out to take one. They appeared to be shortbread, and Miss Danvers was correct—they were divine. Even better than Jack Robinson’s Anzac biscuits.

_Miss Danvers is in very good looks today,_ Mac thought absently as they chatted. Her dress was cotton, a soft blue patterned with flowers and butterflies, and it sported a lovely lace collar at its v-neckline that framed her collarbones well and hinted at her cleavage. Her face was animated, and although her hair was again pulled back into that bun, a few strands had fallen out to curl around her face and down the back of her neck. Her green eyes sparkled as she described her reaction to finding a mouse (dead) and a huge spider (alive) in two of the books of letters that were stored at the back of the library.

“I am sure that my yelp when the spider moved was probably heard down the hall,” Miss Danvers laughed. She talked with her hands, Mac noted; in the interview, she’d kept them calmly in her lap. Perhaps she felt more comfortable today than she had then. Mac found herself pleased that Miss Danvers would feel comfortable in her company—she knew there were many people who had no idea what to do with her, a woman doctor who dressed like a man. Lord knew, her parents hadn’t.

Laughter easing, they sipped their tea companionably. Doctor MacMillan was excellent company, Leigh thought. Her dry humor appealed to Leigh’s own. She felt very much at ease in the doctor’s company, and she found herself becoming slightly more flirtatious as their conversation went on.

“So are you married, Doctor MacMillan?” Leigh asked. She was fishing, she knew. She was almost certain that the lovely doctor was of the Sapphic persuasion, but she wanted to know for sure.

“Please, call me Mac, Miss Danvers,” she responded.

“And you must call me Leigh,” Leigh said with a smile.

“To answer your question, no, I’ve never seen the need,” Mac said. “I am seeing someone, though. I’m not one to cut off all romantic company!”

“Ah”— _damn_ —“and is it serious?” Leigh was proud that her smile didn’t waver, even as her hopes for a closer relationship with the delightful doctor fell.

“It is, rather,” Mac said, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Leigh studied the doctor’s face, its blue eyes still incisive, but softening at the thought of her sweetheart. It really was too bad, Leigh thought. Mac’s figure was trim in her well-cut suit, and the variegated threads of the russet tweed echoed the highlights in her hair. Her skin was naturally pale, and the chocolate-colored silk of her cravat was shot with tiny blue paisleys the color of her eyes. She really was a very attractive woman. With a small inward sigh, Leigh supposed that she’d have to content herself with friendship, and she determined that she would make every effort to turn it into a strong one. She could certainly use more friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the beginning of Death by Miss Adventure in our timeline, so the angst factor will be rising. Stick with me!

As the weeks passed, Leigh settled into the rhythm of college life. She opened the library at 8:00 am and closed it at 6:00 pm. She spoke with Professor Bradbury about the possibilities of a student assistant, and he promised her he’d look into the possibility of offering pay or even class credits for such an appointment. Or there might be a scholarship student for whom time spent in the library could be a condition of their schooling. Until then, Leigh was on her own. The previous librarian had moved to Sydney, and he had, by all accounts, been a bit proprietary about his domain. He’d not wanted anyone else’s help, and as a result, had spent far more time working than Leigh was willing to.

Her days passed quietly. She’d made plans to rearrange the shelves in the library, and once that was done, she wanted to tackle organization of the primary sources along with the few rare books the library held. She’d already spoken with Mr Spall about the purchase of a special set of shelves and drawers to hold some of the more fragile pieces. He had frowned at her, but once she’d made her case (being very clear on how this purchase would benefit the school), he’d said that he would look into it.

Beatrice Mason had become a fixture in the library. She had one particular table, tucked away in an alcove next to the librarian’s office, that she liked to use for her work on the Book of Hours. Now that was a book that Leigh would love to get to know better! It was lovely, the illuminations brilliant still, and the calligraphy precise. Its spine was weak, though, and some of its pages were loose. Leigh noted the care that Miss Mason took with it, and approved. So Leigh left her alone, and she fended off some of the male students who liked to torment the girl when she could.

Mac also came by regularly, dropping by for tea or bringing her lunch to Leigh’s office whenever she could spare the time. Mac seemed to make a point to stop by, even if it was only for a moment, to say hello, and seeing her always brightened Leigh’s day. Leigh marveled at the doctor’s stamina. She was at the college most days, if only for a little while. Her medical practice was very busy, and she attended at the Women’s Hospital, so she was often called away for emergencies.

Leigh was aware that her admiration of the doctor was dipping into deeper territory than friendship, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Elizabeth MacMillan was the most amazing woman Leigh had ever met. Leigh admired everything about her, right down to the flask of whiskey that she kept in her coat pocket for the days when dealing with the men around them became too trying. She admonished herself for this crush, knowing it couldn’t go anywhere, since Mac belonged to someone else in reality, but that didn’t stop it. So Leigh smiled and welcomed Mac when she came, and she sighed and pined (at least a little) when she left.

Because Mac stopped by most days, but not all, Leigh didn’t notice except to miss her when she was gone the first day that week in November. When she didn’t appear on the second day or the third, Leigh began to wonder, and on the fourth day, she began to worry. She sought out Professor Katz, who of all the men on staff seemed to irritate her the least—his misogyny was considerably less formed than Spall’s or Bradbury’s, and where those two led, the rest of the staff followed.

“Professor?” Leigh knocked quietly on his open door during one of his office hour stretches. Katz sat at his desk, head down over the Book of Hours, as was his wont. He adored that book as much as Beatrice Mason did, if not more.

“Yes, what,” Katz’s voice was short, and he didn’t look up. That was standard too. It was a determined student—or staff member—who got answers from Katz when he was busy. Thankfully, Leigh was that type.

“I was wondering if you’d seen Doctor MacMillan,” she said, her tone calm but firm as she stepped toward his desk. “She hasn’t been in for a few days. Is she ill?”

Katz looked up at this, or perhaps he’d processed whose voice it was. “Ah! Miss Danvers. Did no one think to tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Leigh said. He waved a hand at one of the chairs in front of his desk, and she lowered herself into it.

“Doctor MacMillan is in a spot of trouble just now,” Katz said. His voice was calm and his tone factual. “You know she treated that ass, Gaskin, with digitalis every week?” At Leigh’s nod, he continued. “Well, someone contaminated the supply of medication he kept with bleach, and when she administered it, his heart seized. Killed him. Because she gave the injection, she’s been arrested under suspicion of murder.”

Leigh’s breath froze in her chest. “What? She would never!”

Katz nodded his grizzled head. “I tend to agree with you there. Whatever her faults, Doctor MacMillan is not one to take justice into her own hands. The man was an ass, but she’d have gone on treating him indefinitely if she had to.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Terrible thing. She’s been removed from practice at the Women’s Hospital for it, and unless and until she’s cleared, I’m afraid she’ll be considered off the staff here as well.”

“No,” Leigh’s outburst was quiet, and she sat forward in her seat, reaching to touch the edge of his desk. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help? Does she need a lawyer or something?”

“I’ve no idea, Miss Danvers.” Katz’s voice was abrupt again. “I don’t have time to mount her defense. Now if you’ll excuse me.” It was a dismissal—she should have known better than to show emotion in a conversation with Katz. It made him nervous.

“Of course, Professor,” she said, rising. “Thank you for answering my questions. I appreciate the time.” Turning on her heel, Leigh left his office and went upstairs to her own, thinking furiously.

What could she do? This was preposterous. Mac was not the type to commit murder this way, not least because she’d have done a better job obscuring her tracks if she had. No, Leigh couldn’t believe it.

When she closed the library that evening, it was half an hour early. Beatrice Mason was the only remaining student, and though she gave Leigh a forbidding look and a short lecture on how schedules should be kept, she packed up her research and headed off with the assurance that Leigh would open up a half-hour early the following morning to make up the time. Leigh smiled slightly and shook her head—she expected to see Beatrice waiting at the door when she arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leigh goes to the police station to visit Mac.

Leigh made her way to City South Police Station, walking in the door just minutes before six o’clock. The place was rather institutional-looking on the inside, and a young constable, looking smart in his black suit and bright silver buttons, stood at the counter.

“May I help you madam?” he inquired, not unkindly.

“Yes, please. A friend of mine has been arrested, and I would like to see her,” Leigh used her librarian’s voice, calm but with a hint of command, to make the request.

“I see. And what’s your friend’s name?” The constable reached over to pull a large ledger in front of him, apparently preparing to look up the name.

“Elizabeth MacMillan,” she said, and was surprised to see him look up at her in shock.

“Mac… Millan, did you say?” His fingers clutched on the edges of the ledger. “Elizabeth MacMillan?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Leigh cocked her head and raised an eyebrow at the constable. He couldn’t be older than the students she worked with every day, Leigh mused, and he had a face that was as readable as any book in her library. He obviously knew Mac.

“Umm, let me… just… check with the inspector to see if she’s being allowed visitors,” the constable was stammering a little, and he held up one finger as if asking her to wait before he headed over to a door emblazoned with the words “Detective Inspector J. Robinson,” which was standing slightly open. He knocked quietly on the doorframe.

“Yes, what is it, Collins?” The question came in a deep voice that sounded at once authoritative and tired.

“Sir, there’s someone here to see Doctor MacMillan,” Constable Collins replied quietly, with a glance back over his shoulder at Leigh. “She says she’s a friend?”

A moment later, a tall man, older than the constable by a dozen years or more, was pulling the door to the office wide. His dark hair was neatly pomaded and his deep blue eyes were assessing as he looked at her. He wore a neat pin-striped suit and a beige tie dotted with spots of blue, and his calm demeanor was belied by the intensity of his eyes.

“And you are?” He moved toward her, tucking his hands in his pockets as he went. _Probably trying to look less intimidating_ , Leigh thought. And if she’d been less determined, she might have appreciated the effort. This man had a presence that preceded him, washing over her and making her feel the need to tell him everything she knew.

“My name is Miss Leigh Danvers,” she said in her librarian’s voice. Then she repeated the request she’d made of his constable. “I’m here to see Doctor Elizabeth MacMillan.”

“You said you’re a friend of hers?” The inspector tilted his head a little, his wide mouth stern.

“Yes, we work together at the medical college. I take it she’s here?” Leigh controlled her own hands, which wanted to rise up to her chest pleadingly; she kept them firmly clasping her handbag loosely in front of her waist.

“And how did you hear that she had been arrested?”

“When she didn’t come to work for a few days, I got worried and asked after her. I thought perhaps she was ill. Imagine my surprise when I heard she’d been charged with murder! As if anyone could believe that Mac would kill someone,” She gave him a look that was chiding, much like the ones she gave her students when they returned a book with ripped pages or stains.

The inspector’s eyebrows shot up slightly, and she thought she saw the hint of a smile. “Well, I am glad that she has such fierce protectors, Miss Danvers,” he said, “but I’m afraid we do not admit any visitors to see our murder suspects unless they are family or legal representation.”

Leigh’s shoulders, which she’d been holding straight and proud, slumped a little. Poor Mac! She had no family that would come see her, and Leigh was certain she’d need the support of a friend at this difficult time. She wondered whether Mac’s sweetheart had come; she hoped so, but if the sweetheart was female, it was possible she hadn’t been able to get in either. Leigh gathered herself up again.

“May I leave her a note, inspector?” She asked, meeting his eyes. From his comment about protectors, she could tell that he was not as convinced of Mac’s guilt as he might have been, and if that was the case, he might be willing to deliver a message for her.

“Certainly, Miss Danvers, though I will warn you that all correspondence will be read by myself or my staff before it is delivered.” He leaned over and gathered up a notepad that was sitting on the constable’s desk, then handed it to her along with a pen. “Constable Collins will assist you when you are finished.” He nodded at her and disappeared back into his office, closing the door behind him.

Leigh looked over to the constable, who’d taken up his position behind the high counter again. He met her eye and, with a slight smile and a nod, went back to his work. Biting her lip a little, Leigh sat on the bench to compose her note.

 

_Dear Mac,_

_I heard only today that you’d been accused of this crime—I don’t believe it! I wanted to see you, but as I am not family or legal representation, it was not allowed. This note is the best that I could do._

_Please know that you do have friends, and if there is anything you need, I hope you will contact me. If I can aid you in any way, I want to. Your friendship is very important to me, more than you may realize. I hope that this inspector is continuing to look for the real culprit in this murder and that you will be released very soon._

_Your friend, Leigh_

 

Tearing the sheet from the notepad and folding it in half, Leigh sighed. It would have to do. With the inspector’s warning that the letter would be reviewed before being delivered, she didn’t want to say much more. Not that she would have anyway—what would she say? I love you? I want you? Come back to me? No, those were the things she’d keep inside, for fear of losing a friendship that she’d come to rely on.

Standing, she handed the letter to the young constable along with his notepad and pen. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Give her my regards, won’t you?”

Constable Collins nodded. “I’ll deliver this straight away,” he promised.

Nodding, Leigh turned and headed out into the evening.

*******

Jack brought the note down to Mac ten minutes later. He’d read it, and he wondered whether Mac would read in it what he’d seen in that lovely young woman’s face.

“Mail call,” he drawled in his low voice, standing at the door to Mac’s cell. Mac looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks pale. She’d removed her jacket and sat on the bed in her shirtsleeves and waistcoat. “A colleague of yours from the college came by, hoping to see you. A Miss Leigh Danvers?” He saw the surprise in Mac’s eyes. “She seemed quite adamant about your innocence in this matter,” he continued, “and when I told her that station policy forbid her from visiting with you, she wrote you a note.” He held it between his first two fingers, offering it through the bars.

Mac rose to take it. “I’m sorry that I missed her,” she said. “I had no idea that she’d want to see me at a time like this. I hope she doesn’t get herself in trouble with the college board by associating with me.” Turning the letter over in her hands, she stroked it lightly.

“Doctor MacMillan,” Jack began, his voice gentle. He paused. “I’m… sorry for your loss.” He looked at her, his deep blue eyes sympathetic and his mouth held in a commiserating frown. “For what it’s worth, you have more friends than this Miss Danvers and our Miss Fisher. We’re doing our level best to get you out of here.”

“Thank you,” Mac said, looking up at him, her eyes wet. She swallowed. “I told Phryne that I don’t think Daisy’s death was an accident. I hope you’re looking into that as well.” Although her voice broke on her lover’s name, she held his eyes.

“I am,” he assured her quietly. “As is Miss Fisher.” At her nod, he left her with her letter.

Returning to the meager cot, Mac sat down and leaned back against the wall, one foot hooked up on the edge of the mattress. She opened Leigh’s letter and perused it. Her smile as she read, though sad, was genuine. Leigh’s friendship, and her staunch belief in Mac’s innocence, meant more than she could know. Mac had questioned whether Phryne, her oldest and dearest friend, could believe that she did not kill Gaskin, so she could not have anticipated Leigh’s defense. She hoped that she’d get a chance to thank her for it. Tucking the letter in her waistcoat pocket, she tilted her head back to try and get some sleep.

*******

The following week, Leigh was in her office when Mac strode in. The knock on her door brought her head up, and the joy on her face at Mac’s presence was blinding.

“Mac!” Leigh stood and rounded the desk, extending both of her hands to take Mac’s. “You’re back! Are you exonerated, then? Oh, I could hug you, I’m so relieved!”

Laughing a little, Mac squeezed her hands. “I am back, and my record is clear. Thank goodness.”

Pulling Mac to sit in one of her visitor’s chairs, Leigh took the other before letting go of Mac’s hand. Her eyes roamed over Mac’s dear face; she looked pale still, and her smile seemed strained.

“I saw the article in the paper when they caught that woman,” Leigh said. “And she’d killed that worker too, the one they originally said was an accidental death?”

“Yes, she did,” Mac said softly, and the pain in her eyes was suddenly searing. Leigh stopped, seized by a sudden understanding.

“Mac, that woman—the worker who died,” she said, slowly. “Did you know her?” She watched Mac’s face as asked the question. Mac pursed her lips, and the skin around her eyes tightened before she answered.

“I did,” Mac said. “She was… a dear friend, actually.” She swallowed, then tried for a smile. It came off rather more of a grimace.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Leigh breathed. “Mac… If it’s not too… I mean, if I may…” She stopped, stood, and closed the door to her office, shutting the two of them away from any students who might be inadvertently listening in. Mac’s eyes followed her, her expression knowing, and her face set as if she were anticipating a blow.

Leigh sat back down beside Mac. “Was she… your sweetheart?” Leigh’s voice was quiet, her sympathy plain.

Mac only nodded, her jaw working, and Leigh reached out to lay a hand over Mac’s. Leigh’s heart broke for her. It was one of the greatest griefs of the women and men of the world who loved outside the bonds of what society deemed to be proper that when a loved one was injured or died, the lover had no recourse. Mac would not be recognized as this woman’s sweetheart; she would not be given a respite from her grief. She would likely not even be asked about it, because the whole relationship was likely shrouded in secrecy so as not to be termed indecent. As if there was anything indecent about loving someone.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Leigh said softly. “What was her name?”

“Daisy,” the word seemed torn from Mac’s throat. “Daisy Miller.” A single tear dropped from one of Mac’s crystal blue eyes, and she dashed it away impatiently.

“That’s a lovely name,” Leigh’s voice was soft. “I’m sure she was a lovely woman.” At Mac’s nod, she continued. “If you ever need a shoulder or want to talk about her, I hope you’ll come to me.” Leigh reached up to cup Mac’s face, wiping another escaping tear with her thumb. “I hope we are friends enough for that.”

Mac swallowed again, and nodded. She could tell that Leigh meant what she was saying. It was remarkable that this lovely woman didn’t judge Mac’s love for another female to be perverted or strange. Her understanding touch was warm on Mac’s face, and Mac reached up to grasp her hand, squeezing it lightly before bringing it down to clasp it, along with Leigh’s other hand, between her own.

“Thank you,” Mac said, her voice rough.

Leigh met her eyes and nodded, giving her a small smile. “Now how about a cup of tea?” At Mac’s nod, she squeezed Mac’s hands again before heading around the desk to plug in her kettle.


	5. Chapter 5

_It’s Saturday night,_ Leigh thought. _And here I am, curled up alone on the couch in my living room as if I am an old woman_. It would not do! She wouldn’t sit here, wishing to be with a woman who didn’t see her as a romantic partner. She could admit that she hoped that someday that might change and Mac might open her eyes, but given the tragic nature of Daisy’s death, Leigh thought Mac’s grief might take a long time to heal. So until then, Leigh was going to keep living. Setting her book aside, Leigh hurried off to her bedroom to change into a dancing dress.

She sauntered into Blue Velvet about an hour later, feeling lovely. Her sea-green sequined dress swirled jauntily around her knees, and the jeweled pins in her hair sparkled when she turned her head. She’d been to this club once before, with a friend, and she knew it catered to her particular tastes. Shrugging her wrap down off her shoulders, she headed toward the bar for a cocktail. The bartender, a lovely girl with black bobbed hair, leaned over to hear her order over the band, giving Leigh a nice view of her cleavage with a smile. _Probably nets her better tips,_ Leigh thought, smiling herself as she picked up her whiskey sour and left an extra couple of coins alongside her payment.

Turning, Leigh surveyed the club. The band played jazz, a coronet soloist wailing over the sea of bodies dancing in the dim lights. The tables grouped around the edges of the dance floor held mostly couples, with a few groups and singles, and were populated almost entirely by women. The dance floor itself swam with sparkling dresses, feathered fascinators, and long arms waving gloved hands in the air. It was a celebration of women’s beauty, and there was hardly a man in sight. _My kind of place,_ Leigh thought, grinning as she took a sip of her very excellent drink. When her eyes scanned again, she caught a glimpse of the single occupant of a table at the very back of the bar—a lone woman dressed in a waistcoat and shirtsleeves, a bottle of whiskey and a single tumbler on the table in front of her. As Leigh watched, Mac lifted the tumbler and knocked back the two fingers of whiskey it held, then set it down and poured herself another with an unsteady hand.

In the six weeks since Daisy’s death, Leigh and Mac had continued to build their friendship. Mac had even, eventually, shared a story or two about her young lover. Daisy had grown up poor, but with a thirst for knowledge. She and Mac had bonded over books and lectures on the sciences, attending talks at the Royal Observatory on the few times they’d stepped out together. Daisy had liked the stars, Mac said. It surprised Leigh that Mac would be out at this type of club, where it was understood that a single night of passion with a woman of like mind was the usual ending for an evening. Leigh had had that in mind herself when she’d come here; she could use a night of guilt-free passion and the release of lovemaking, and she’d intended to find it here.

Now, though, Leigh made her way toward Mac’s table, discarding her idea of finding a stranger to warm her bed for the night in favor of helping a friend ( _more than a friend_ ). Mac looked up at her blearily, having obviously worked her way through slightly more than half of her bottle already.

“Oh, hello,” Mac said, her voice remarkably clear. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for the dancing and the company,” Leigh said. “How about you?”

“Di’nt want to spend another long night alone,” Mac stated. “Thought I’d pick someone to help me pass the time. But then I got here, and I just…” She shook her head and knocked back her glass of whiskey again. “I figured I’d just get drunk instead.”

Leigh sat beside Mac, looking out at the club with all of its glitter and sparkle. None of the women she’d noted earlier appealed to her now, not with this one sitting next to her.

“Waitaminit,” Mac said, wiping her hand across her mouth and looking over at Leigh with puzzlement in her booze-hazed eyes. “This club’s for women who like women. Why’re you here?”

Leigh’s laugh rang out, joyous and happy. “Are you serious?” Mac’s confused frown was adorable, her eyebrows drawn together and her eyes attempting to focus. “Darling Mac, I have been a Sapphist since I was sixteen and discovered Marilyn Jenkins’ very talented fingers.” She grinned, leaning both of her elbows on the table and crossing her arms. _Taking my cue from that adorable bartender,_ she thought, _maybe give Mac a glimpse of the goods._ Sure enough, Mac’s gaze dropped to Leigh’s ample cleavage, which was plumped up by the squeeze of her biceps and displayed by the scalloped edge of the vee of her neckline. Mac blinked, her lips forming a small “o” of surprise, before she dragged her eyes back up to meet Leigh’s.

“Huh,” Mac said, eyebrows high. “Well, tha’ ‘splains why you said you won’t be marrying.” She poured herself another drink.

The bottle was down to its last quarter now, Leigh saw. For a small woman, Mac could hold her liquor well. Leigh raised her glass in a toast, and Mac did the same.

“To women who like women, then,” Leigh said, a smirk on her lips.

“To women,” Mac said, “and loving them.” Her smile was present, but sad. She clinked her glass against Leigh’s, and drank her whiskey down.

*******

“Here now, Mac,” Leigh said, slinging Mac’s arm around her shoulders. Mac was well and truly drunk now. She’d finished her bottle of whiskey, and before she’d even asked for it, the waitress had brought another. Leigh had begun to get a bit concerned when Mac proceeded to work her way through that bottle as well. She hadn’t quite finished it—probably a good thing for her liver—but she’d done her best, and the bottle was in Leigh’s handbag for later.

Leigh had paced herself, drinking considerably less than Mac. She figured that Mac would need a sober ( _mostly sober_ ) friend to help her get home at the end of the night. She’d realized somewhere around the first quarter of Mac’s second bottle, though, that she didn’t know where Mac lived. _Looks like I’ll have an overnight guest after all,_ she thought.

She’d managed to get Mac back into her jacket, a feat in itself, before heading with her up the stairs to the curb outside the club.

“Yer a good fren’,” Mac slurred, as Leigh flagged down a cab. “Pleeestameetcha.” Swaying, she held out her right hand as if to shake Leigh’s. “Pretty Leigh,” she sighed, hand going to her hat when no handshake was forthcoming.

“And I’m pleased I met you too,” Leigh said softly, hugging Mac softly with the arm she’d looped around Mac’s waist. When a cab pulled up, she helped Mac into the back seat, then followed her in, giving the driver her address.

“She’s not gonna chunder, is she?” The cab driver looked warily at Mac, who was now softly singing under her breath.

“I don’t think so,” Leigh said, “but if she does, I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”

The driver nodded. “Fair enough, then,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

When the cab turned a corner, Mac flopped from leaning against the opposite door to leaning against Leigh’s shoulder, her head snugged against Leigh’s neck. Mac wrapped her arms around Leigh, holding herself steady against the movement of the car, and Leigh’s arms came around Mac in return.

_If only the circumstances were different,_ Leigh thought, her nose in Mac’s hair, lungs filling with the spicy and smoky scent of her, _I would be thrilled at this moment._ As it was, she was just rather sad, because the song that Mac was singing softly under her breath went, “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do / I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.” Leigh sighed and decided to at least enjoy this moment, even if nothing else would be happening tonight.

Getting Mac into Leigh’s house was easy compared to dragging her up the steps out of the club. Mac wasn’t singing anymore, and she hadn’t vomited in the cab, thankfully. She seemed about ready to fall asleep, though, so after letting them in and dropping her laden handbag (books and bottles get heavy) on the table by her front door, Leigh ushered Mac directly back to her bedroom. She only had the one bedroom; she planned to get Mac set up in it and then sleep on the couch. Much as Leigh would like to take advantage of the good doctor, she’d prefer it to be when the advantage-taking would be mutual.

So she laid Mac down on one side of her decadent bed, then flicked on a lamp and turned the covers down on the other side. Leigh loved her bed; she’d found the frame at an antiques auction just after she’d returned to Melbourne, and it was so large, she’d had to have a mattress made specially for it. She’d sewn the linens herself, two sets in fine soft cotton in her favorite shades of blue and green, and her quilt was an oversized one she’d purchased in America, a wedding ring pattern of shades of blue and green on a deep blue background.

Moving back to Mac, Leigh helped her out of her jacket again, rolling her back and forth to pull the jacket from beneath her limp body. Next, Leigh applied herself to Mac’s waistcoat, undoing the buttons and rolling her to ease it off her shoulders. Untying Mac’s cravat, she pulled it carefully from around her neck, leaving her collar undone. Standing up, Leigh considered what remained of Mac’s clothes. The shoes would have to go, and she’d probably be more comfortable if her hair was down. What about the trousers, though? Would Mac prefer to be left in them or would it be better to make her comfortable enough to sleep well? Leigh decided to do the shoes and hair, and then consider the trousers.

She slid the shoes carefully off of Mac’s feet, pulling off her socks as well and tucking them inside the shoes. Leigh smiled a little at Mac’s toes—her feet were narrow and delicate, and her toes curled as the socks came off, so likely ticklish too. Patting them gently, she turned her attention to Mac’s hair, which was bundled up in her standard bun at the back of her neck.

Rolling Mac gently onto her side, facing away, Leigh searched through her hair to find the pins holding her bun in place. When her hair finally came down, it was longer than Leigh expected—reaching far down Mac’s back—and the lamplight showed off its rich hues, sparking off the multicolored strands of brown, gold, and copper that made up her naturally vibrant color. Unable to help herself, Leigh stroked Mac’s head from her crown to the ends of her hair, reveling in the soft texture.

Standing up again, she decided that yes, the trousers needed to go if Mac was going to be comfortable. Bending over her once more, Leigh loosed the fastenings at Mac’s waist, then went to Mac’s feet to pull the trousers down. Then Mac lay atop the blankets in nothing but her white shirt and knickers, her long pale legs set off to perfection against the jewel tones of Leigh’s bedspread, and Leigh allowed herself another moment of regret. If only Mac weren’t all but unconscious from drink; if only she’d chosen to come home with Leigh of her own free will! But that was not to be, at least not tonight, so Leigh helped Mac roll over one more time and tucked her under the blankets. She reached over to turn off the lamp, leaving only the rectangle of light from the hallway to illuminate the room. Leaning down, she stroked Mac’s hair again, dropping a light kiss on her forehead.

Mac roused a little at that kiss. She blurrily smiled and looped one arm around the neck of the woman bending over her, murmuring “Daisy,” before bringing their lips together in a passionate kiss.

Leigh’s eyes closed at the feel of Mac’s lips on hers. Surely, she thought, it would be all right, just for a minute, to pretend. And she gave herself over to the kiss. It was everything she’d imagined, sweet and hot; Mac’s tongue in her mouth tasted of the whiskey she’d drunk and a flavor that was unique to her. Leigh traced the lines of Mac’s teeth with her tongue before licking her way back into Mac’s mouth, her heart beating so fast it felt as if it would burst from her chest. After long moments, she pulled away, hand still stroking Mac’s head.

“Sleep, darling,” Leigh said, her voice breaking a little along with her heart.

“Love you, Daisy,” Mac mumbled, turning into the pillows, eyes closed, and tumbling into sleep.

Leigh raised trembling fingers to her lips as she left the room, snagging her nightshift from its hook and closing the door behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who're sticking with me - we're almost to the part that earned that E rating, I swear. :D

Mac woke slowly the next morning, feeling sunlight on her face. Her head was pounding and her mouth tasted like something had died in it while she slept. She shifted her legs against smooth sheets and breathed in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon that lingered on the pillow beneath her head. This wasn’t right. Where was she? Slitting her eyes open and reaching up to shade them from the brightness of the light, she looked around. The room seemed small, mostly because of the sheer size of the bed set in its center, which was big enough to hold four people comfortably. _Phryne would love this,_ was her absurd thought.

Glancing around the room, she saw her jacket hanging neatly on the back of a ladderback chair to one side of the bed, what looked like her waistcoat and trousers neatly folded on the seat, and her shoes lined up underneath. Carefully sitting up, mindful of her swimming head, Mac looked down at herself. Her hair spilled over the shoulder of her white dress shirt; Lord, what had she done? Lifting the hem of her shirt, Mac was relieved to see that she still wore her knickers.

Moving slowly, she got up, reaching for her trousers. She slipped them on, tucking her shirt in, and then donning her waistcoat. A pile of her hairpins sat neatly on the bedside table, and she pinned up her hair with automatic motions. Two doors flanked the dresser on the opposite wall, one closed, the other cracked open and showing the white porcelain of a bathroom. Thankful, Mac quietly made her way there, taking care of her morning needs, then moving to the sink, where she splashed cool water on her face, rubbed her teeth clean with a finger before rinsing her mouth with water, and used a towel to wipe away the last traces of the little makeup she wore. Frowning at herself in the mirror, she tried to remember the night before.

She’d been lonely at home, thinking of Daisy, and when drinking alone didn’t help any, she decided to go out to Blue Velvet to find solace in a crowd. She remembered that her intention had been to find someone to take home for the night—Daisy would have understood the need to feel someone’s arms around her—but when she got there, she found that she just couldn’t make herself take that step. So instead, she’d bought two bottles of whiskey, the second to be delivered when the first was gone, and made her way to a back table to drink herself stupid. From there, it got a little fuzzy.

Mac thought she remembered Leigh Danvers coming to her table, but that would be odd in that particular club. Wishful thinking, perhaps. The lovely Miss Danvers was a temptation to Mac, had been even before Daisy died, to Mac’s shame. At any rate, the “Leigh Danvers” in her memory sat with her as she drank away her troubles and then… nothing. She had vague flashes of memory, including rolling around on that sea of a bed and passionately kissing Daisy—and since Daisy was _not here_ , chances were the latter was a dream.

Shaking her head at her own idiocy, Mac straightened up and went back out to the bedroom, determined to face up to whoever it was she’d allowed to take her home last night. _Though not for sex,_ she realized, which was strange. Sitting down on the little chair, she pulled on her shoes and socks, and was just shrugging into her jacket when the other door to the room opened and Leigh walked in, carrying a tray loaded with tea and toast.

“Good morning!” Leigh said in her sweet voice, smiling at Mac as if she hosted drunk women on a regular basis. “I heard you moving around, so I made you some things to calm what is probably a pretty nasty headache, given the way you tied one on last night.” Tilting her head, she surveyed Mac. “You don’t look too much the worse for wear. Would you rather eat at the table, then?”

Mac could only nod dumbly, disbelieving. She followed Leigh out the bedroom door, through a tidy sitting room, and into a small kitchen, where Leigh set the tray down and started unloading it onto the table. She named each item as she set it out.

“Strong tea, and some lemons to go with it, if your stomach will bear it. Aspirin. Toast. And some ginger jam that will help relieve any nausea you might have.” She glanced over at Mac. “Go on then,” she said, moving to tuck the tray away in the pantry.

Mac found herself obeying, sitting down in the chair Leigh had indicated with a nod of her head.

“Thank you,” she said softly, reaching for tea and toast, and scooping some ginger jam out of the small bowl. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much of last night—how did I get here?”

“I brought you home with me,” Leigh said, matter-of-fact. “You couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give me your address, and you needed to sleep it off.” She shrugged. “I slept on the couch, don’t worry.” She indicated the sofa in the sitting room, where a folded blanket was stacked neatly under a pillow.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Mac said, closing her eyes. “What you must think of me…”

“I think,” Leigh said quietly, elbows on the table, her teacup held between both hands, “that you’ve suffered a loss, and you’re coping with it the only way you know how.” She took a sip. “I’m glad that I was there to help you through it last night, and that I was able to get you someplace where you’d be safe.”

Setting her teacup down with a click on its saucer, she folded her hands in front of her and leveled a very serious look at Mac.

“Please, the next time you feel like going out, take someone with you. I wouldn’t like you to wake up in a stranger’s bed, not knowing what you had done the night before, and hating yourself for it. Or for you to drink so much you poison yourself and never wake up at all.” Her eyes were kind and a little sad as they locked with Mac’s. “You would be missed.”

Mac nodded, a lump in her throat. “I’ll do my best,” she said.

“That’s all any of us can do,” Leigh said, and took up her tea again. “Now eat your toast.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac's avoiding Leigh, and Leigh's having none of it.

“You’re avoiding me. It’s been two weeks since you’ve come by for tea,” Leigh stood in the doorway of one of the classrooms in the college, having tracked Mac down during one of her lectures. She’d waited outside until the class was over, then stepped into Mac’s path, hands on hips.

“I…” Mac swallowed, licked her lips, and answered. “I am.”

“Why?” Leigh’s hands dropped to her sides, her eyes wide with hurt. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Mac’s voice was clipped. “I’m angry with myself. You have been nothing but kind. You can’t want to see me anymore.” _Hm,_ Mac thought, _that didn’t come out… quite as I intended._

“Whatever gave you that foolish idea, Elizabeth MacMillan?” Leigh threw up her hands in exasperation. “You were one of my first friends coming back to Melbourne, and I treasure that friendship. I thought you felt the same.” She leveled a sad look at Mac. “I miss you.”

Mac looked at Leigh, feeling like she was seeing the librarian for the first time. As always, Leigh was lovely, her golden hair swept neatly to the back of her neck, her navy blue frock demure and yet paying tribute to the curves of her body. She was slightly taller than Mac, both in and out of her heels, Mac remembered, so her head tilted slightly to meet Mac’s eyes. Mac studied Leigh’s face, her eyes wandering over her sparkling green eyes with their naturally dark eyelashes, her straight nose, the golden undertone of her skin, the deep pink of her full lips.

“I’ve missed you too,” she said softly. “But I behaved so badly, and you have no reason to forgive that.”

“Come now, Mac,” Leigh replied, reaching out a hand to run it along Mac’s arm. “Friendship is reason enough.”

Leigh studied Mac in her turn, admiring the cut of her chocolate brown jacket and trousers, offset by the russet plaid of her waistcoat. Her cravat today was a harvest gold, which made her skin look luminous. Her beautiful hair was bundled up primly, but its finger waves called out to be stroked. And her eyes, that piercing blue, were apologetic and even wary.

“Leigh,” Mac said, hesitating another moment before glancing around to make sure that she wasn’t overheard, “I know that it doesn’t bother you that I loved Daisy. Why is that? I would have thought you’d be shocked.”

Leigh cocked her head to one side, her smile quizzical. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” Mac was still smarting over her blackout that evening, and she hadn’t drunk to excess since. When she’d reflected on that shameful night, she hadn’t really given any thought to how Leigh had found her before bringing her home. She assumed that she’d been stumbling down the street and Leigh had happened to see her, but she’d been too mortified by her own behavior to want to delve into it.

Leigh shook her head. “Come on, I’ll make you a cup of tea in my office and fill you in. Completely this time.” She slid her hand into Mac’s elbow and pivoted so that they could head down the hall together.

“A cup of tea sounds lovely,” Mac said, a lump in her throat.

*******

Walking companionably together down the hall arm in arm with Leigh gave Mac a funny feeling in her chest. She’d never walked like this with Daisy, and would likely never have been able to. Daisy had loved Mac, she knew it, but this kind of public affection would have made her uncomfortable. In Mac’s experience, it was only women without sex between them who could touch in this public a way. She’d walked this way with Phryne, but never with a lover.

Not that Leigh was her lover, her inner voice hastened to add. _Although I wouldn’t mind it if she was_ , Mac thought. _She smells divine, and her lips seem made for kissing, and her body—well, there are anatomy lessons and_ anatomy lessons _, and Leigh’s is the latter._ Mac caught herself. This woman was her friend, and one should avoid lusting after one’s friends, if possible. Lust was hard on a friendship.

They didn’t speak as they walked down the hall. Leigh basked in the feeling of Mac’s arm under her hand and Mac’s hip brushing hers for the short length of the journey to her office. Apparently, Mac didn’t remember that Leigh had found her at Blue Velvet, nor the confession that Leigh was a Sapphist. Perhaps explaining those two things would knock down some walls between them. _Or it might build those walls up_ , Leigh mused. She had a suspicion that Mac had felt safe with Leigh partly because she assumed Leigh was not attracted to women. That assumption would leave any romantic feelings by the wayside and allow friendship to bloom. If Mac knew that Leigh _did_ like women, and—more importantly—was attracted to Mac herself, would her defenses slam shut or would they crack wide open? _No way to know, really,_ Leigh thought, _so there’s nothing for it but to admit the truth._ Leigh generally preferred to live her life truthfully, whenever possible.

Leigh’s student assistant, Reggie Waters, was studying at the library reference desk, but he looked up as the two women came in. Professor Bradbury had come through on adding library assistant as a qualifying work-study scholarship option, and Reggie had been her first applicant. He was studying to be a research scientist, and his love for books rivalled hers; they got along like a house afire, as Leigh’s mother used to say.

“I’ll be in my office, Reggie,” she said as they passed him, continuing to clasp Mac’s arm.

“Right-o,” Reggie said with a smile, and a nod in Mac’s direction, “Doctor MacMillan.”

“Hello, Mr Waters,” Mac said. She had tried to extricate herself from Leigh’s grasp as they came into the library, thinking to spare Leigh any awkwardness, but apparently Leigh did not want to be spared. So Mac walked beside her, spine straight and head high.

Once inside Leigh’s office, she did let go of Mac with a final squeeze, closed the door, then rounded her desk to start the kettle. She’d taken to filling a pitcher with water each morning so that she could have fresh throughout the day without having to trek to the staff kitchen. With the kettle warming on her desk, she wiped out her teapot and scooped leaves into it, then placed it next to the kettle to catch any residual heat it could. She then reached for two teacups, one clean from her sideboard and the one that she’d used earlier that morning, and her little pot of lemon slices, placing them on the desk.

“There,” Leigh said, rounding the desk again and settling herself into the second of her two visitor’s chairs. Mac had seated herself comfortably in the first, leaning forward with her elbows on the arms and idly watching the tea-making proceedings. Her eyes had followed Leigh as she moved around the small room, admiring the fluidity of her movements. Now, they fixed on Leigh’s as she waited for an answer to her question.

“You don’t remember how I found you that night, is that correct?” Leigh’s voice was brisk, and Mac shook her head. Leigh nodded. “I went to Blue Velvet myself, looking for company, as is the norm for that club. Imagine my surprise when I found you.”

“Wait—” Mac held up one hand. “You were looking for… company… at _Blue Velvet_? You do know what kind of club that is, don’t you?” Mac’s blue eyes were wide, confused.

“Yes, I do,” Leigh said, her eyes calm and steady on Mac’s. “I was looking for romantic company for the evening,” she lowered her head a little, trying to make her point clear, “of the _feminine_ sort.”

Mac’s mouth fell open and she slumped backward in her chair, obviously in shock.

“Mac, I told you that night—I have been a Sapphist since I was sixteen,” Leigh continued.

“…and you discovered Mary Sue somebody’s very talented fingers,” Mac’s whisper was quiet, and her eyes, which had fallen away from Leigh’s, snapped back. “I remember that!”

Leigh grinned, “It was Marilyn. Marilyn Jenkins. And yes. That’s exactly what I said. What she could do with her fingers was a revelation, I must admit.”

“But I thought…” Mac stumbled, “I thought that you…”

“I know you did.” Now it was Leigh’s turn to look away, and her voice was serious. “At first, of course, it’s not the kind of thing you talk about with new acquaintances. And then, when I suspected that you had the same inclinations, or at least that you’d understand and accept mine, I didn’t want you thinking that my friendship had anything to do with the other.”

The kettle began to whistle, and Leigh sighed, rising to tend to it. “And then Daisy died, and I didn’t want to intrude on that grief… I don’t know, Mac. I’m sure that I would have told you sometime. I didn’t intend to keep it a secret, not from you.”

“I remember something else from that night, now,” Mac said slowly. “I thought it was a dream, but… did I kiss you?” Her eyes were on Leigh again, so she saw the blush that rose in Leigh’s cheeks at the question.

“You did,” Leigh admitted quietly, “but you thought I was Daisy. You were drunk, Mac. I know it wasn’t a kiss that was meant for me.” _That doesn’t keep me from cherishing it, though_ , she thought. She met Mac’s eyes again as she handed off her cup of tea. “Don’t worry yourself about it.”

“You are a better friend than I deserve, Leigh,” Mac said, taking the tea from her.

“What rot,” Leigh said mildly, resettling herself in her chair, tea in hand.

Mac laughed. In that moment, Leigh had sounded so like Phryne, it was startling. No wonder she lo—liked this woman so much!

“Well, I am glad to have you,” Mac said, a smile in her voice. “Friends are important things to cultivate.” She sipped her tea. “Have I ever told you of my childhood friend, the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher?”

Leigh shook her head, smiling at the new animation in Mac’s voice. This was the Mac she’d met originally, before Daisy died.

“She is a maniac,” Mac said, “and you would love her.” Mac grinned at Leigh’s raised eyebrows, and began to regale her newest friend with tales of her oldest.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Leigh and what happened with them offscreen during The Blood of Juana the Mad.

When Professor Katz’s body was discovered, mislabeled next to the furnace and unveiled in an anatomy revision in front of more than half a dozen students, Mac was upset. Leigh was even more so—the crotchety old man had been her favorite among the staff (aside from Mac), and she genuinely grieved for his death.

She recognized the inspector who headed the investigative team as the same one who’d been so sympathetic at Mac’s arrest. He remembered her as well, and even greeted her by name when she met him in the conference room to be interviewed.

“Miss Danvers,” the inspector said, “I’m sorry to see you again in such sad circumstances.”

“Inspector Robinson,” she replied, “I never told you how much I appreciated your assistance last November.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Any friend of Mac’s…” His smile was tiny, quirking only the corners of his mouth. She smiled back at him.

“Now, what can you tell me about Katz? Did he have any enemies?” His blue eyes were serious, and he leaned forward over the table, notebook open in front of him.

“Not that I’m aware of, inspector,” Leigh furrowed her brow, trying to think of anyone who might have meant Katz harm. “I won’t say that he was a harmless old man—he was sharp as a tack, and often used his wits as a weapon. He could be terribly irritable; he didn’t like to be questioned, and emotional displays aggravated him. But he was a good man, kind at heart, and he loved his work.”

“When was the last time you saw him, Miss Danvers?” He folded his hands on the table in front of him as he examined her face; she assumed he was trying to judge her truthfulness.

“Yesterday, around three o’clock, I think” she replied. “I was filling my water pitcher in the staff kitchen, and he was there having a tea break.”

“Did he seem agitated or upset?”

“Not that I could tell,” she replied. “We said hello, but I didn’t linger to chat.”

The inspector nodded, making a notation in his book. He asked her a few more questions, then thanked her for her time. She nodded and rose to leave; he rose out of his chair as well, as gentlemen do. As she left the conference room, she noticed a woman waiting outside the open door. The woman was stunningly beautiful: tall and willowy, wearing a white sweater coat with a white fur collar and a leopard-patterned felted cloche. Her sleek black bob ended just below her ears, and white-crystal earrings dripped below its sharply cut lower edge; her lips were siren red, a perfect cupid’s bow.

“Hello,” Leigh said, nodding to her as she passed.

“Good morning,” the woman said, but absently, her eyes skating past Leigh to peek through the doorway at the inspector, who’d retaken his seat and was industriously making notes.

Leigh didn’t stop; she headed up to her office to see if Mac might be waiting. When she arrived there, she saw that Mac was, indeed, ensconced in her visitor’s chair and sipping a cup of tea.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mac said, as Leigh entered. “I needed the boost, and I didn’t have the stomach to go to the staff kitchen and face everyone’s scrutiny.”

“Of course not,” Leigh assured her, coming to lay a hand on her shoulder. “You are welcome anytime. How are you holding up?”

“I’m all right,” Mac sighed. “Poor Katz. He didn’t deserve that.”

“No, he didn’t,” Leigh gave Mac’s shoulder a squeeze and sat in the other chair. “He was a good man. I’ve already spoken to the police inspector, and I told him the same thing.”

“Jack Robinson?” Mac’s eyebrows rose. “I called for him in particular—he’s the best investigator in Melbourne. He’s also,” she continued, with a small smirk, “in love with Phryne Fisher, though apparently he doesn’t want to be.”

“Really?” Leigh had been enjoying Mac’s stories of Phryne’s escapades. “And Miss Fisher? Does she return his feelings?”

“I think so, but she’s having a hard time admitting it,” Mac said, sighing. “Apparently they had a falling out recently, and they’re at odds. Phryne thinks he’s running scared, but I think it’s as much her unwillingness to admit her feelings as his disbelief that she can return his.” She shook her head. “I called Phryne in, too. I hope they can come to some agreement over this case. They really are better when they work together.”

“You called Miss Fisher in?” Leigh’s mind flashed back to the elegant woman she’d seen outside the conference room. “I think I might have seen her downstairs. She was rather lurking outside the room during my interview with the inspector.”

“Well, damn,” Mac said. “They aren’t working together yet, apparently.” She sighed.

*******

“I can’t believe it,” Mac slumped in a chair in Leigh’s sitting room.

They had recently begun spending the evenings together. They’d realized that they both spent most evenings alone in their respective homes, and had fallen into the habit of sharing that time instead. It was companionable—they’d have dinner together and end up in one of their parlors, sharing a drink and conversation. They were most often at Leigh’s house, because Mac’s flat was rather sparse; she spent very little time there.

“Bradbury. A murderer, and all over his stupid misogynistic, racist theory of intelligence.” Mac shook her head. “I respected him.”

Leigh handed her a tumbler of whiskey, then curled up on her sofa, her own drink in hand. “We always knew he was rabid about that theory,” she remarked.

“Yes, but I had no idea he’d go that far,” Mac shook her head again, sipping her drink. She held it up and examined it, enjoying the color against the light in the room. “You know, I was at Phryne’s earlier. Jack Robinson was there.”

Leigh’s eyebrows shot up. These two friends of Mac’s were better than a penny dreadful. “So they’ve made up, then?”

“It appears so. He was comfortably leaning against her fireplace when I left,” Mac’s voice was dry and her eyes twinkled. “I don’t understand it—why won’t they admit what they feel for one another?”

“Maybe it’s too frightening to love that deeply,” Leigh suggested, shrugging. Her tone was light but her eyes watched Mac’s reaction.

“It’s possible, I suppose. Especially on Phryne’s part,” Mac said, seemingly oblivious to the parallels Leigh was seeing. “Eh, I imagine they’ll figure it out.” She took a sip of her drink, thoughts obviously on the friends she’d left in St Kilda. She snorted then, her dancing eyes meeting Leigh’s. “I told Jack that if it ever came to my needing to procreate, he’d be my choice.”

Leigh snorted as well, nearly inhaling her own whiskey. “You didn’t!”

Mac’s smile was wide and devilish. “I did,” she confirmed. “I doubt he believed me, though. But Phryne knows that I don’t have much use for men, generally, so if it did come down to my wanting to reproduce…” She lifted her glass in a silent toast to the absent Jack Robinson.

“He seemed rather dour to me, though he was kind,” Leigh mused. “Does he have a sense of humor about that sort of thing?”

“I think so,” Mac said. “I was rather surprised by how open-minded he is, actually. He’s never judged me over my choices, and he and Phryne are constantly bantering.” She shook her head. “He’s a good match for her, I think. She can be impulsive, and he sort of… evens her out, if that makes sense. Mmm, did I tell you? Phryne has set up a scholarship for the college—Beatrice Mason is to be the inaugural recipient!”

“To Phryne Fisher and Jack Robinson, then,” Leigh said, nodding and lifting her glass.

“To Phryne and Jack,” Mac agreed, reaching to tap her glass against Leigh’s.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, we made it - this is where this fic earns its rating. I hope you're still with me!

“Come on, Mac!” Leigh’s voice was wheedling. They had finished dinner a few minutes earlier and were now firmly ensconced in Leigh’s sitting room. She’d decided, once again, that she was too young to spend her every Saturday night curled up with a book. “It’s only dancing!”

Mac looked at her silently over the top of her whiskey glass, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yes, there’s likely to be more than that—drinking and such—but if we go together, neither of us will have to worry about whether to go home with someone else.” Leigh paused, “Though I suppose, if you want to…”

“I don’t,” Mac said. It had been months since she’d had anyone in her bed, and she had no intention of changing that tonight. Daisy had been gone for just over six months now, and Mac still couldn’t see herself taking a stranger home just for comfort sex. She eyed Leigh. “Do you?”

“Not a chance,” Leigh said. “So you see? It’d just be dancing, a couple of drinks… Please, Mac?” Leigh clasped her hands together at her chin, bottom lip poking out and eyes wide. “Pretty please?”

Looking at her, Mac laughed. “All right, fine,” she said finally. “But I’m not dressing up.”

Leigh let out a little scream of happiness. “You don’t have to,” she assured Mac, as she got up herself. “I’ll only be a minute!” She leaned over to smack a kiss on Mac’s cheek before hurrying down the hall to her bedroom.

Mac reached up to touch the spot where Leigh’s lips had met her skin. _That kiss didn’t mean anything_ , she told herself. Leigh was a tactile person, often taking Mac’s arm or running her hand down Mac’s shoulder. Just because Mac could still feel the warmth of her breath and the soft press of lips didn’t mean she should read any more into it than that. But she smiled to herself as she sipped her drink.

When Leigh came back, ten minutes later, Mac was glad she’d finished her whiskey—she might’ve choked on it. Instead, she nearly choked on her own tongue. Leigh’s dress was a deep midnight blue silk that skimmed her body faithfully, and the blue sequins clustered at its hem tapered as they ran up her body until they met to spill into a wide circular collar that just dipped over the tops of her breasts. Her shoulders were bare, her golden skin glowing, and she’d put some sort of sparkly, feathery thing in her hair. She’d put on makeup, too—something Mac almost never saw her do—her green eyes glowed within their thicket of lashes and her red-slicked mouth was turned up in a smile. The deep green scarf she’d wrapped around her back and upper arms sparkled too, with silver threading woven in a swirling pattern that drew the eye.

Twirling on her high-heeled dancing shoes, Leigh enjoyed the awestruck look on Mac’s face. “Do I look all right?” she asked. She wondered whether Mac would admit that she found Leigh attractive.

“Definitely,” Mac said, her voice croaking a little. Leigh’s smile was blinding. Without taking her eyes off her beautiful friend, Mac rose to offer Leigh her arm. “Shall we go, then?”

“Yes, lets,” Leigh said, sliding her arm into Mac’s and twining it around to lay her hand on Mac’s bicep. “Onward to Blue Velvet!”

Their evening out was fun for both of them. They danced until they were breathless with laughter, and then retreated to a table to talk and drink while they rested. Throughout the evening, other women approached to ask one or the other to take a turn, but Mac and Leigh only had eyes for each other. With each turn on the dance floor and each return to their table, the space between them grew smaller until they were sitting side-by-side, their chairs pulled close enough for their shoulders to touch. The ever-flowing whiskey had helped; Mac had bought a bottle, and this time, she’d shared it. They’d both had quite a bit to drink by the time last call was announced. When they got up to head outside to find a taxi home, Leigh stumbled a little against Mac, who slid an arm around her waist for support, laughing.

“You’re tipsy!” Mac said, grinning at Leigh as they made their way up the stairs into the fresh night air.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Leigh quipped, slinging her arm over Mac’s shoulder and hugging her close.

“Here now, let’s get you home.” Mac lifted her arm to the taxi waiting at the stop and it pulled forward to meet them. She helped Leigh into the roomy back seat and gave the driver her address before leaning back to sit beside her friend.

Leigh sat close beside her, both arms twining around one of Mac’s, and dropped her head to Mac’s shoulder.

“That was so much fun,” she murmured. Mac smiled down at her. Trust Leigh to be a sweet, silly drunk. Mac’s head was swimming some too, and she had the impression that Leigh rarely drank this much.

Arriving at Leigh’s house, Mac climbed out first, helping an unsteady Leigh out behind her, then paid the driver. She followed Leigh up the drive to the front door, intending to be sure that her friend got to bed safely.

Aiming a sleepy smile over one shoulder at Mac, Leigh unlocked the door and stepped inside. She dropped her small purse onto the table by the front door and hung her wrap on a hook. Mac followed, hanging up her hat and shrugging out of her jacket. Leigh moved over to the sofa then, and sat down at one end, her head tilting back against the cushions. Hands in her pockets, Mac strolled over to face her, an indulgent smile on her lips.

“We should get you into bed, Leigh,” Mac said, smiling into Leigh’s half-closed eyes. Leigh responded by lifting one leg up, toe pointing at Mac.

“But I still have my shoes on,” she said, wiggling her foot and her eyebrows at Mac.

With a laugh, Mac caught her heel in one hand, and undid the shoe buckle with the other. Setting the shoe aside, she let go of that foot and made a beckoning motion with her fingers so that Leigh lifted her other foot up for the same treatment. When both shoes were off, Leigh shifted on the sofa, tucking her stockinged legs up underneath her, then patted the cushion beside her.

“Let’s sit just a minute,” Leigh’s voice was soft. Shaking her head, Mac took the invitation, settling down beside Leigh, who snuggled closer, resting her head on Mac’s shoulder again, and draping one arm across Mac’s lap. Mac nestled her arm around Leigh, stroking the soft skin of her friend’s upper arm absently. They rested there a bit, not talking, just holding each other. After some minutes, Leigh tilted her head up to look at Mac, who had her eyes closed and her head resting comfortably on the back of the sofa.

“Mac?” Leigh’s voice was hesitant.

“Mmm?”

“Would you do something for me?”

“What’s that?” Mac lifted her head and opened her eyes, meeting Leigh’s deep green gaze.

“You kissed me once before,” Leigh said, “but it wasn’t my kiss. Would you kiss me again? For me, this time?”

Mac’s blue eyes were serious, and she raised her free hand up to trace the line of Leigh’s jaw. She licked her lips lightly, and lowered her head. _What are you doing?_ The voice in Mac’s head was insistent, but she ignored it in favor of doing something she’d been refusing to admit to herself she wanted. Her lips settled over Leigh’s softly, and she felt Leigh’s breath gust out in a sigh. Mac closed her eyes, wanting to feel this; Leigh’s lips were soft, her bottom lip full and sensual. Lightly brushing her lips against Leigh’s, Mac felt the warm wetness of Leigh’s tongue darting out to touch her, and she tilted her head to cover Leigh’s mouth more fully with her own. Leigh’s hand on Mac’s hip moved up to cup Mac’s head as their mouths moved against each other, tongues touching, flavors blending.

Without thought, Mac’s hand on Leigh’s face drifted down to her neck, stroking the lines of her collarbone where they were revealed by the neckline of her dress. Leigh responded, deepening the kiss even more and arching her back to push her chest closer to Mac. _Touch me,_ was the only thought in Leigh’s mind at that moment, and when Mac’s small, strong hand drifted down even more, trailing to the tops of her breasts, then shifting underneath to cup around one, Leigh was ecstatic. She moved her leg to sweep up and over Mac’s lap and, still kissing her, pressed her knee between Mac’s. With her arm around Leigh’s shoulder freed, Mac’s other hand swept down her back to cup Leigh’s hip. Her hand on Leigh’s breast stroked and squeezed, her fingers finding Leigh’s hardening nipple and pinching it lightly. At that sensation, Leigh felt her hips contract, pushing her more closely into Mac’s body.

When Mac broke the kiss, Leigh moaned in disappointment, but Mac only dropped her head to meet her hand on Leigh’s breast, running her tongue along the swell of skin bared by her dress and plumping her breast up to reveal more.

“Ohhh,” Leigh breathed, her body clenching with arousal. “Maaaac,” her name was a whisper as Mac’s mouth continued down to lick at Leigh’s nipple through her dress. Leigh’s hands dropped to Mac’s waistcoat, beginning to unbutton it, and Mac didn’t stop her.

Instead, Mac’s hand on Leigh’s hip stroked up her back to find the buttons that ran from the waistband to the back of the sequined collar, popping them open one by one. When she had them all undone, Mac moved both hands to Leigh’s hips, bunching the fabric of her dress up. Lifting her head from Leigh’s breast, she looked up at the woman writhing on her lap.

“Leigh,” Mac’s voice was low, aching. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yes,” Leigh said, dipping down to capture Mac’s mouth with her own. “Very sure,” she murmured against Mac’s lips, her tongue punctuating her statement with a thrust into Mac’s mouth. Then she pulled back, just a little.

“Are you?” she said softly, her eyes on Mac. Those blue, blue eyes met hers, and they were hot with desire.

“Definitely,” Mac said, and kissed her again. “But…”

“What is it?” Leigh said, pulling back a little.

“Why are we out here on this tiny sofa when you have that enormous bed?” Mac smiled at Leigh, who laughed, kissing her again. Leigh stood, catching Mac’s hand in hers to lead her, smiling, down to the bedroom.

Standing by the bed, Mac caught Leigh by the hips and gently pushed her down to sit on the bed before standing back up to strip out of her waistcoat and trousers. Leigh was arrested by the sight of Mac’s legs, pale and dusted with fine hair. Mac was unbuttoning her shirt, and Leigh was mesmerized by the sight of the inner curves of her breasts, moving softly unbound beneath it.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Mac remarked drily, and Leigh started. Laughing a little, Leigh reached up under the edge of her dress to release her garters, but halted when Mac said, “Wait.”

Glancing up, Leigh saw that Mac was moving toward her, completely naked now. Dark pink nipples crowned the tips of her breasts, and her flat stomach stretched from them down to softly rounded hips and a neat patch of red hair. Mac’s arms were raised to let down her bun, and her hair flowed around pale pink shoulders.

Reaching Leigh, Mac put her hands to Leigh’s hips, gathering the loosened material of her dress in both hands. “Lift,” she said, and Leigh obeyed, leaning back on her hands for balance. “Hands up,” Mac said, and Leigh raised her arms over her head so that the dress could come off, leaving Leigh in her brassiere, knickers, garter, and stockings. Mac tossed the dress behind her toward the chair where she’d laid her clothing, but didn’t take her eyes off of Leigh. Reaching to Leigh’s hair, she undid the feathered fascinator and laid it on the bedside table, then came back to pull out the pins holding Leigh’s bun in place. She stroked her hand through Leigh’s hair, pulling locks to the front of her body, where they curled around her full breasts. Leigh licked her lips, looking up at Mac’s eyes, then back to her sweet breasts, so tantalizingly close. Pursing her lips, Leigh blew softly toward Mac’s nipple, and was pleased to see it tighten. She swayed, her hands rising to grasp Mac’s hips and bring her a step closer to stand between her legs. Leigh pressed her face into Mac’s breasts, rubbing her cheeks on the soft skin and pressing kisses all around them before opening her mouth over Mac’s nipple.

Mac contracted around her, hands in Leigh’s hair stroking gently as Leigh worked her nipple between her lips. Mac’s eyes closed for a moment, reveling in the sensation of Leigh’s warm, wet mouth on her flesh, before she slid her hands down Leigh’s back to unfasten the hooks of her brassiere, pulling it down Leigh’s arms. Leigh lifted first one, then the other of her hands from Mac’s body to rid herself of the garment. She replaced her hands carefully once that was done, one hand sliding around to cup Mac’s buttock, and the other moving to cup the breast she wasn’t currently suckling.

Mac’s hands stroked down to slide under Leigh’s heavy breasts, feeling their weight. Leigh’s skin was darker than Mac’s, and her breasts were full and beautifully formed, her large brown nipples already hard with arousal. She had a mole on the side of her left breast, and Mac promised herself she’d taste that before the night was out.

Pulling back from Leigh’s busy mouth, Mac dropped to her knees; Leigh made a soft noise of protest that Mac muffled with her lips, drawing her into another deep thrusting kiss. Placing her hands on Leigh’s thighs, Mac unhooked her garters, one by one, breaking the kiss only to roll Leigh’s silky stockings down her shapely legs, fingers trailing along the soft skin she revealed. Then she reached up to slide her fingers under the sides of Leigh’s kickers to unhook the garter belt and thread it out and off of Leigh’s body.

When Mac reached for the waistband of her knickers, she lifted her hips slightly, leaning back on her hands.

“Oh thank God,” Leigh said, once the last barrier to the touch of Mac’s skin was discarded over her lover’s shoulder.

Mac chuckled as she exposed Leigh’s sex to the soft light of the room. The smell of Leigh’s arousal was intoxicating, especially on top of the whiskey Mac had consumed. Leading with her hands moving upward from Leigh’s knees to her hips, Mac buried her face between Leigh’s thighs. For a moment, she just breathed in Leigh’s scent, but then she felt Leigh’s hands slide into her hair. Cupping one of Leigh’s heels, she pressed it up, lodging it on the edge of the bed to open her body further; she pulled Leigh’s other leg over her shoulder with a hand behind her thigh. And then she feasted.

Mac’s mouth between her thighs was a sensation that Leigh had given up on ever experiencing, and she half thought that this was a dream—that she’d passed out after dancing and this was only her imagination. She fought to raise her head off the bed, and when she saw that red hair clutched between her fingers, she laughed in pure joy, even as she moaned in pleasure. When Mac’s fingers joined her tongue, pressing deep into her body and curling to cull all possible sensation, Leigh could not hold back her groan. Writhing on the bed, she called Mac’s name over and over until the orgasm broke within her—and then she screamed.

Leigh lay, panting, on the bed, legs flopping over the side, as Mac crawled up beside her. Turning to face Mac, Leigh kissed her hard, tasting her own essence on Mac’s tongue. When they parted, they both were panting, and Leigh found that she could move again. Rising up, she urged Mac under the covers, then climbed in beside her, hands reaching to stroke Mac’s pale skin.

With her head on the pillows, Mac watched as Leigh moved to lay over her, breast to breast, her belly pressing softly against Mac’s pubic mound. Turning her hips slightly to one side, Leigh lifted Mac’s thigh over hers before slipping her hand between Mac’s legs. Mac’s back arched when Leigh slid one, then two, then three fingers inside her body, thrusting them rhythmically and moving her hips along with them, fucking Mac with her entire body.

Mac could feel Leigh’s breasts pressing against her own, and she slid her hands down to cover them, holding Leigh’s nipples between her fingers and squeezing with each thrust of Leigh’s hand. When Leigh pushed a fourth finger into Mac’s passage, the stretching sensation was exquisite, and the push of Leigh’s thumb against her clitoris with each thrust sent Mac flying.

Dragging herself up Mac’s body, breasts trailing along Mac’s skin, Leigh collapsed beside her lover, drawing Mac into her arms. They lay face to face, legs entwined, softly kissing until they both dropped off into an exhausted sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Morning. Once again, Mac woke, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon in her nostrils. This time, however, she wasn’t alone in the big bed, and she knew exactly where she was. She was in bed with Leigh Danvers, her head resting on a pillow beside Leigh’s, one hand on Leigh’s naked hip. Leigh slept facing Mac, both of her hands tucked under her cheek like a little girl. Mac smiled, wanting nothing more than to wake her with kisses and learn all of the lines of Leigh’s body that she’d missed the night before. She considered Leigh’s sleeping face. How had this woman made her way so deeply into her heart after such a short time? Leigh had a hold on Mac that was as deep or even deeper than what she’d felt for Daisy.

Mac’s smile faded, coldness like ice in her chest. She wasn’t ready to feel again like she’d felt for Daisy. And if she felt _more_ for Leigh? Mac’s heart began to beat quickly, too quickly, and her head began to pound. Rolling her lips together, Mac eased slowly backward out of the bed, hoping not to wake her. Successful, Mac scooped up her clothes and shoes again and made her way, naked, out into the sitting room, where she hurriedly dressed. Realizing she’d left her hairpins back in the bedroom, Mac shrugged into her jacket and stuffed her hair up under her hat. She had to get out of there.

Closing the door softly behind her, Mac made her way down to the street, taking a sharp turn at the end of Leigh’s walk to get to a larger boulevard where she could find a cab. As she walked, she castigated herself. _What have I done?_ She thought. _I can’t love her, not like that._ She walked, head high, wondering what to do. Flagging down a cab, she climbed in, giving the driver her address. She’d start with fresh clothes, and then maybe it was time to call in reinforcements.

*******

Leigh woke, sleepy and sated. She stretched against the sheets of her big bed, reaching out to draw Mac to her, but her searching hand felt nothing but cool sheets. Opening her eyes, she peered around the room.

“Mac?” She sat up in bed, pulling the covers up to cover her breasts as she searched the room for her lover. The silence of the house and the empty feel of the room, along with the absence of Mac’s clothing, convinced her that she was alone. Mac had left. Lying back again, Leigh sighed. She smothered the small pang of hurt in her chest that Mac had left without saying goodbye. She shouldn’t be surprised, she supposed. It had only been a few months since Daisy died, and Mac was understandably skittish about beginning anything new. Leigh was certain that Mac felt more for her than just a one-night fling, and chances were that her darling doctor was now running scared.

Rolling over in bed, she began to plot. There was no way she was letting Mac go, not now that she’d had her in her bed. She just had to find a way around Mac’s defenses.

*******

Mac sat in Phryne’s parlor, drink in hand.

“…and that’s the whole of it, I think.” She shrugged a little, since she’d left out the intimate details of her night with Leigh. “In essentials, anyway.” She lifted her whiskey to her mouth, swallowed, and finally dared to meet her friend’s eyes.

Phryne stared at her. “All right, let me understand you. You made a friend who helped you through Daisy’s death, who has become your almost-daily companion, who you never mentioned to your very best friend, even though you say you’re not ashamed of her, but that’s beside the point—and when that friend became your lover, you woke up the morning after and just… ran away?”

Mac winced. “In a nutshell… yes.” She ran her hand over her face. “God, Phryne, what have I done?”

“You’ve put your foot in it, that’s for certain,” Phryne said flopping backward in her chair and taking a swig of her own drink. “I’m not one for long-term romance, generally, but even I know that if you want to be with this woman— You _do_ want to be with her?”

“I… I think I do, actually,” Mac’s blue eyes were anguished as she gazed at her friend. “Good God, I think I’m in love with her.”

“Then, my dear, you’re going to have to grovel, I’m afraid,” Phryne said with a grimace. “The good news is that if she’s as smart as you say, she’s probably figured out why you left, but that doesn’t mean she’s not hurt and angry over it.”

“And rightfully so,” Mac murmured, knocking back the rest of her drink. “Now I just need to figure out how to apologize for being such an ass.”

*******

_Well_ , Leigh fumed, sitting alone in her office. _It would be much easier to find her way around Mac’s defenses if the woman would actually allow herself to be found at all._ It had been two days since she’d seen Mac. Leigh’s understanding of why Mac was so tentative about their night together didn’t stop her growing anger at her friend’s—at least, she’d _thought_ Mac was her friend—complete and utter abandonment of her after the fact.

Leigh huffed out a breath, hoping it would calm her. She looked out into the library; there were students sitting at about half a dozen tables, and Reggie was working on the stack of books that needed reshelving. She rose to her feet to go and help him. Maybe that would work off some of her mad. She didn’t notice when Reggie’s eyes got wide as she strode toward him, nor when he moved quickly out of her way once he’d decided she wasn’t looking for him. Picking up a half-dozen books off of the cart, she moved purposefully out into the shelves to put them away. She finished that load and went back twice for more; she had almost finished her third pile when she noticed Mac’s approach.

Mac walked through the library, hands in her pockets and shoulders slumped. She knew that she was going to need to apologize, and no good way to do it had come to her. She’d tried to come to the library yesterday, but when she’d seen Leigh chatting with Beatrice Mason, Mac’s heart had begun to pound and she couldn’t make herself go in. She’d even driven over to Leigh’s house the evening before, and she’d sat in her car for almost an hour before giving up and going home. Now, she headed for Leigh’s office, hoping that this time, she’d be able to explain, or at least apologize.

From behind her, Leigh watched. She noted Mac’s posture and the absence of her usual brisk stride. Her heart squeezed. _The poor darling is completely at sea,_ she thought sadly. She sighed. She was still angry, but it helped that Mac had come to her. She moved out of the stacks and dropped the last two books back on the cart. Coming up behind Mac, who was standing in the door of her office as if unsure what to do next, she cleared her throat.

Mac whirled around, her eyes huge in her pale face. “Lei—Miss Danvers,” she said. She swallowed, then attempted to smile. “If you have a moment, I had something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Leigh looked at Mac for a moment, eyes narrow and lips pursed. “Of course, doctor,” she said, and moved past Mac into her office. “Shut the door, please.” Moving around her desk, Leigh sat down, hands clasped on her blotter. “How can I help you?” Her voice was pleasant and impersonal. Mac winced.

Closing the door, Mac licked her lips and rubbed her hands on the sides of her thighs before coming to sit in front of Leigh. She swallowed again, hard.

“I’m sorry,” Mac said, the words blurting out with none of the finesse she’d hoped to maintain. “I’m so sorry for leaving, Leigh. I panicked, and I ran. And then I didn’t quite know how to find my way back again.” Mac’s eyes, when she lifted them to meet Leigh’s, were glassy with tears.

Leigh could feel her heart melting, and when she spoke, her voice was softer, kinder. “I’ve been right here the whole time, Mac. Waiting.” She met Mac’s eyes and she knew that her hurt would be obvious. She lifted one hand to her chin, then let it fall again. “I had a plan to work my way subtly around your defenses, but there was no way to do that without you here.”

Mac rolled her lips together, and her hands clenched on the arms of the chair as her eyes closed for a moment against the pain in Leigh’s voice.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said softly, blue eyes opening again to fasten on green, “I don’t think I have any defenses left.” She smiled, shakily. “At least, not against you.”

Leigh’s indrawn breath was soft, but the tilt of her head and the shine in her eyes were enough for Mac to know that she’d heard.

“So what now?” Leigh said, when she felt that she could trust her voice again.

“Will you give me another chance?” Mac leaned forward in her chair, eyes focusing intently on Leigh’s face. “I don’t know if you can believe me… if you can trust me again… but I’m ready now. I won’t run away again.”

Leigh’s eyes were sober as she gazed back at Mac. _I am so in love with this woman_ , Leigh thought.

“See that you don’t,” she said quietly. “I deserve someone who’ll stay and fight for me.”

Mac nodded. “Yes,” she said seriously. “You do. And that will be me.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Leigh spend some time together. Mac tries to make up for her previous mistakes.
> 
> This chapter is a short one--sorry about that! We're also almost to the end; there's one last chapter after this. I really hope you're enjoying the story!

_When Mac put her mind to something,_ Leigh mused, _she really got things done._

In the month since their first night together, Mac had been, well, the best word Leigh could come up with was _wooing_ her. Two or three times a week, Leigh would enter her office to find small gifts had been left there, either at the beginning of the day or if she stepped out for a moment—a still-warm scone, a single flower laid across her blotter, a small book of erotic love poetry (she’d hidden that one in her purse as quickly as possible). There were no notes, but Leigh knew that the gifts were from Mac. They had spent every evening together they could, and though they hadn’t made love again, just the understanding that they were working their way toward something more than friendship seemed to be enough.

“It’s not starting over,” Mac had said. “I liked our beginning. I’d just like to… refocus a little. Take our time to find out more about each other through this new lens.”

Leigh understood. She even agreed, for the most part. So she took the time that Mac was giving her, and she cherished it. When they were alone, Mac was affectionate, touching Leigh whenever she could, however chastely. She’d run a hand along Leigh’s arm or back, and Leigh loved it when they would end up on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms. Those evenings on the sofa had turned passionate more than once, but Mac always stopped before they even shed any layers. The kissing, though! Leigh felt sometimes that she would combust if they didn’t go farther soon.

On one such night, when the washing up after dinner was done, they sat nestled together on Leigh’s sofa as Mac read aloud from that small, illegally indecent book.

 _The trees have kept some lingering sun in their branches,_  
_Veiled like a woman, evoking another time,_  
_The twilight passes, weeping. My fingers climb,_  
_Trembling, provocative, the line of your haunches._

 _My ingenious fingers wait when they have found_  
_The petal flesh beneath the robe they part._  
_How curious, complex, the touch, this subtle art—_  
_As the dream of fragrance, the miracle of sound._

 _I follow slowly the graceful contours of your hips,_  
_The curves of your shoulders, your neck, your unappeased breasts._  
_In your white voluptuousness my desire rests,_  
_Swooning, refusing itself the kisses of your lips._

Mac’s voice was soft, her tone caressing Leigh’s ear where she lay within Mac’s arms. Leigh felt a shiver of arousal run down her spine. The erotic words spoke to the longing within Leigh to express her love for Mac physically.

She turned to lie on one hip, reaching up to draw Mac’s mouth down to her own. Mac met her halfway, and her kiss was passionate. Mac raised one hand to cup Leigh’s face as she devoured Leigh’s mouth. Leigh turned more fully, pressing herself against Mac, one arm sliding around Mac’s waist to draw her closer as she stroked the other up Mac’s chest, intending to curl it around the side of Mac’s neck. When Leigh’s hand passed over Mac’s breast, Mac’s breath caught, and Leigh switched direction, moving back to cup Mac’s breast through her waistcoat. Rubbing her thumb over Mac’s nipple, Leigh felt it harden, even through the layers of cloth. Mac’s hand fell from Leigh’s cheek to press over the hand on her breast, holding it still.

“Leigh,” Mac’s voice was hoarse, “I…”

“If you say we should stop, I think I might die,” Leigh said, her forehead pressed to Mac’s, and her hand on Mac’s breast squeezing lightly, rhythmically. “Or maybe kill you in a fit of lustful rage.”

Mac laughed, and kissed Leigh again, hard and quick. “I was only going to say that I think we should move this into the bedroom. I want you,” she breathed against Leigh’s mouth before their lips met for a third time, tongues tangling.

This time, Leigh broke the kiss. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Her voice was breathless, and Mac could hear the laughter in it. The sound brought tears pricking to Mac’s eyes, and she felt as if her heart would beat out of her chest.

Cupping Leigh’s face in both hands, Mac held Leigh’s eyes. “I am so in love with you, Leigh Danvers,” Mac said, her smile tremulous.

Leigh seemed to hold her breath for a moment, her eyes searching Mac’s. When she smiled, it was brilliant, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

“Elizabeth MacMillan, I thought you’d never say that,” she said through her tears. “I feel like I have loved you forever, and yet every day with you is new.”

Mac laughed again, a disbelieving sort of sound, and pulled Leigh close to kiss her again. They didn’t make it to the bedroom for quite some time, and when they did, it was hours before they slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Mac reads is “The Touch” by Renée Vivien (1877–1909).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting. I have loved this story so much; I hope you have too. ♥

Leigh raised her hands to fasten a string of golden-hued beads around her neck and examined her gown in the mirror. It was new—a lovely, full-skirted thing that she’d made from a photo she’d seen in a fashion spread. The lightweight fabric was the color of summer honey, and she’d added brown velvet piping at the rounded neckline and hem. She’d appliquéd velvet flowers of the same chocolate color along the bottom edge of the skirt, at the neckline, and at the full cuffs. Her T-strap shoes were a similar brown, and she’d managed to get her hair up into a faux bob that was looser around her face than her usual bun.

She knew that tonight was important to Mac—apparently, that young constable Leigh had met down at the police station the night she’d tried to get in to see Mac was marrying his sweetheart and there was to be a small reception afterward. Mac would pick her up after the ceremony and take her to the party, which was to be at Miss Fisher’s house. Leigh found herself a little nervous. The people at this party were some of Mac’s closest friends, and Leigh didn’t want to make a bad impression. She drew in a deep breath through her nose and blew it out her mouth, hoping to erase some of the tension she was feeling.

“Don’t worry,” Mac had said, rubbing Leigh’s arms. “Dottie and Hugh are wonderful people. They want to meet you, and they’re thrilled you’re coming to the party.”

“And do they know about—” she gestured between herself and Mac “—us, this?” Her eyes were wide and worried; it was always difficult to know who would be scandalized by the type of love affair she and Mac were having. She didn’t want to cause trouble for Mac by acting inappropriately around her friends.

“Well, we haven’t actually had a direct conversation about it,” Mac had allowed, “but Dottie knows, and when she said I could bring a ‘friend’ to this party, she said it in such a way that I’m pretty certain she knew any friend I’d bring would be female.”

Leigh still wasn’t sure, but she trusted Mac to know what was right in her circle of friends. It was interesting, Leigh thought. Since she’d returned to Melbourne, she’d reconnected with some of the friends she’d had before she left, but she wasn’t close enough with any of them that she would be up front about her love for a woman. Even in America, her friends had either been other lesbian women or those whom she would not have thought to confide in. That Mac had a relatively robust set of friends who accepted her for who she was seemed incredible. Mac was a very fortunate woman.

Mac’s face, when Leigh opened the door to her later that evening, convinced Leigh that Mac considered herself fortunate as well, though for a different reason.

“You are stunning,” Mac breathed, coming in and closing the door. She raised a finger and circled it in the air; Leigh took the hint and gave a little twirl, letting her skirt float up around her knees before coming to a stop and striking a pose. “Just stunning.” Mac smiled and moved in to kiss her gently.

Leigh kissed her back, then, leaning back, checked that her lipstick hadn’t transferred itself to Mac’s mouth. “Thank you, milady,” she teased.

“Are you ready to go?” Mac lifted a thumb to Leigh’s lip to wipe at a spot where Leigh’s lipstick had smudged a little. Leigh nodded, slid her hand into Mac’s, and followed her out the door.

*****

_Miss Fisher’s house is enormous,_ Leigh thought. She looked up at the gorgeous yellow-and-red building with its turrets and balconies and marveled. Mac tugged at her hand, pulling her up the front stairs past the bay window that was blazing with light. Leigh could hear the jazz music and the laughter of the party from here. She steeled herself, determined to impress.

“Mac!” The woman who opened the front door was gorgeous—black bob ornamented with a sparkling headdress, gold dress highlighting alabaster skin, crimson lips open in a laughing smile. Leigh knew she’d seen Phryne Fisher before, but the woman had _presence_. And as Miss Fisher threw her arms around Mac, Leigh felt a small pang—these two had history. She hoped that history wasn’t romantic, but she supposed it wouldn’t matter if it had been. It was evident that they were very close.

“Phryne, this is Miss Leigh Danvers,” Mac said, laughingly disengaging from her friend’s hug and holding a hand up toward Leigh. “Leigh, the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, my oldest and dearest friend.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Fisher,” Leigh said, holding out a hand, her smile shy.

“Please, call me Phryne.” Her grip was firm, and her eyes measured Leigh, who swallowed a little nervously.

“And you must call me Leigh,” she returned. “Thank you for inviting me into your home.” She met Phryne’s eyes, trying to telegraph how she felt about Mac.

“Any friend of Mac’s is a friend of mine,” Phryne said, her eyes warming. “Come in, meet everyone else!” She took Leigh’s elbow to lead her into the parlor, which appeared to be teeming with people. Leigh recognized Jack Robinson, who saluted her with a champagne glass from where he leaned against the mantel, and young Constable Collins, whose arm was wrapped around a lovely girl who must be his bride. She looked back over her shoulder to Mac, who was shaking her head in amused exasperation as she followed them in.

“Champagne?” Phryne said, as an older man—the butler, perhaps—offered her a tray full of glasses. “Thank you, Mr B!” Phryne took two, handed one to Leigh and one to Mac, then went back for her own.

Mac took the opportunity to step up next to Leigh, who lifted her glass, smiling. Mac clinked her own glass against Leigh’s, her smile wry. She leaned over to murmur in Leigh’s ear.

“Welcome to the chaos that is Miss Phryne Fisher,” Mac said, her breath warm against Leigh’s neck.

“She’s lovely,” Leigh said, her eyes on Phryne, who had retreated across the room to stand next to the inspector. They were talking quietly. Leigh wondered if either of them recognized how blatant their feelings for each other were to anyone looking at them.

“She is that,” Mac agreed, her eyes following Leigh’s. “And she has no idea how to cope with what’s going on there.” She waved her champagne glass gently toward the couple at the mantel. She took a drink and shook her head. “She’s leaving tomorrow, flying her father back to England. I wonder if she’s told him yet.”

“He knows,” Leigh said, softly assured. “Look at his eyes. It’s as if he’s already accepting that he’s losing her.” She sipped her champagne— _good Lord, that’s the real French stuff,_ she thought, eyebrows rising.

Mac nodded. “She adores him, but he doesn’t see it.”

“That’s sad. Will she make the first move, do you think?”

“I doubt it. She’s not one for monogamy, and as much as she wants him, she knows that’s what he needs.” Mac shook her head. “She’s trying to protect him, I think. And herself. He has more of her heart than she’s ever given to another man.”

They were interrupted then by the happy couple, who had been moving around the room, chatting to everyone.

“Congratulations, Hugh!” Mac said, shaking his hand, then leaning over to buss his new wife on the cheek. “You are a beautiful bride, Dorothy.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Dorothy Collins’ voice was sweet with an undertone of steel. “We are so glad you could come and celebrate with us.” She smiled, glancing up at her husband, whose eyes were on her. “And who’s this?”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Mac said, turning to introduce Leigh.

“Miss Danvers, thank you for coming,” Mrs Collins said. The constable looked at Leigh as if trying to place her.

“Have we met before, Miss Danvers?” He said, eyes puzzled. “It’s only… you look familiar.”

“We have, constable,” Leigh replied. “I came to visit Mac when she was in custody after that factory owner died.” Leigh cut a small glance toward Mac. She knew that Daisy’s death was still painful, though perhaps less so now than it had been.

“Oh, of course!” Hugh snapped his fingers. “I remember now. It was kind of you to visit her.”

“She’s my friend,” Leigh said simply. “I’d do anything for her.” She looked over at Mac, her love shining in her eyes. Mac smiled raised her glass in a salute.

*****

Mac sidled up to Jack, who stood, as always, outside the heart of the party. Following his gaze, she was unsurprised to see it centered on Phryne, who was talking with Leigh. She grunted, and he glanced over to her, smiling a little before turning his eyes back to the sun in his sky.

“She’s leaving in the morning,” Mac said casually, taking a sip of her drink. She’d switched to whiskey—she could only take so many bubbles.

“Yes.” Jack’s voice was calm, but she could hear the hollowness in it.

“She’s coming back, you know,” was Mac’s next gambit, after the silence between them had stretched on for too long.

“That’s what she says,” he acknowledged. He glanced back at Mac again, and his eyes were sad. “But who knows what—or who—will call to her once she’s on the other side of the world.”

Mac eyed him. “Then maybe you’d better send her a message that she can’t help but hear,” she said, her tone acerbic. “Let her know that she has a reason to come back.”

Jack tilted his head at her and nodded, a quick contemplative frown pulling down the corners of his mouth and raising his eyebrows. Mac sipped her whiskey.

“She’s in love with you,” she said next, after another long stretch of silence.

Jack turned fully to face her then. “I know,” he said, “but she doesn’t want to be.”

“I don’t think it’s that.” Mac shook her head, tucking her whiskey glass to her chest. “She’s afraid that she can’t be what you really need.” She uncurled her hand and pointed her finger at him around the glass. “It’s going to be up to you to show her that _she_ is what you need. If that’s the case.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He blinked, then slowly nodded, and this time when his mouth moved, it was into a smile.

*****

As the evening wore on, Mac watched as Leigh charmed all of her friends. She drew Jack into a discussion on books, engaged Bert in a debate about communism, and chatted to Cec about keeping chickens, of all things. Hugh and Dot seemed to find her fascinating, Hugh eating up her stories of working in the US during the war and Dot grilling her on the magazine in which she’d found the dress she’d created.

Phryne came to stand next to Mac, her eyes on Leigh, who stood laughing lightly with one arm held out to her side as Dot examined the appliqué on her sleeve.

“She’s absolutely lovely, Mac,” Phryne said, her voice quiet.

“She is, isn’t she,” Mac’s smile was wide and genuine when she looked at Phryne. “I’m glad you like her.”

“I do, very much.” Phryne took a drink of her champagne. “But you realize that if she hurts you, I will make her life hell?”

Mac grinned. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, darling.” She looked back at Leigh, who was now doubled over in laughter alongside Dot. “She’s my heaven.”

Phryne slipped an arm around Mac’s waist and squeezed. “Then she’s what you deserve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Leigh’s dress is taken from [this picture](http://www.geheugenvannederland.nl/?/zoom/index/&language=nl&i=http://resolver.kb.nl/resolve%3Furn%3Durn:gvn:SFA03:SFA022008944%26size%3Dlarge). The original Pinterest photo claims that it’s from a 1929 collection, and the model’s hair looks right for that timeframe. Whether it’s precisely right or not, it sure is pretty!


End file.
